At the Mouth of the Well
by Bellatrixbeauty
Summary: Look in. It seems bottomless, doesn't? Terrifying in that way. But drop a stone, or better, a torch, and it all comes to light. There is a sure end, as to everything. But be not afraid. It is the journey that matters. Then we may see where we've been, and know where we're going. Sequel to "Old Wives' Tales".


**Bb says: **So here's the sequel to _Old Wive's Tales. _Yep. That's what this is. READ IT!

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of _Soul Eater_. So there.

_She wondered at the person who had invented the sink._

_Did they know of its potential beauty? The glory of something as simple as a pail in a hole? And why call it a "sink"? Why not name it for its predecessor, and call it what it truly was? A place of gathering, of hip-to-hip, urns on heads, of hands held under bubbles and ruined soups down the drain. And wishes too, if one was to be fair, because something about throwing a coin into still water stirred the forces of the world and if one was lucky, REALLY lucky, they would calm into one's favor. She wondered why these thoughts plagued her now, why pensiveness had become as natural to her as breathing as of late. Perhaps it was a symptom of old age?_

_A fork slipped from her fingers, clinking to the ground. Although she felt it slide, saw it fall, she still jumped a bit at the sound. She bend with a frown, recognizing how uncomfortable it was getting to move in her state. Honestly, she felt like a life raft._

_Life._

_A quick, bespectacled glance over her shoulder told her she was alone in the manor, save for her puppy and her plants and her warm middle. It was never quite lonely on days like this, as wayward spirits had a habit of edging in occasionally. Not all of them were benevolent -she was very good at exorcising the rude ones- but they all wove legends of their own. Often enough they would not mind a sit and a talk as they waited for her husband to come home and send them on. She didn't like to "take care" of the kinder spirits, because the way the rude ones screamed at her made her assume it was painful if not done by a reaper. And the look on their faces as her husband gently touched them was always one of peace, of rest. _

_There were no souls in her home today, so she planned to drift out into the city, perhaps after lunch, and to sit at the edge of a fountain and to tell a story to students who hadn't seen her all day. She would end a true tale on a false note and in a few months she would apply for maternity leave with the hope to someday return._

_In the meantime she had time to kill and a story that wouldn't lie still on the tip of her tongue. _

_"Would you like to hear a story?" There was no response, and she did not expect one. But she couldn't bare to simply let this go; what is started must be finished, one way or another. And it was such a messy thing to simply walk away with stings hanging from one's tapestry. _

"Wedding cakes are strange objects that, for the most part, do not complete their primary function of being cake and take on the duty of being a piece of inedible art. Lovely loopy licks of lace like doilies on the sides, roses that claim to be made of spun sugar but taste more like chestnuts, and a dry interior flavored with organic honey but sawdust all the same. Sigh supposed it was fair; whenever Leroy back at Forbidden fantasy made a GOOD cake, it was always ugly. Maybe some things just needed to be ugly to contain a delicate sweetness.

But this reverie was pointless.

As another plate appeared before her, the waiter gently nodded like this as the first plate he had placed on the table. Like this was the first cake shop she had been in since the start of this doomed journey earlier that morning. But it wasn't; it was the fifth. Sigh wasn't sure why Death City had so many cake shops and asking would probably result in some response she wouldn't care to make sense of. All that mattered was that although each shop had the ability to produce delicious baking items (as her excursions in the city previously could attest to) they had somehow managed to scrounge up the lowest of the low when it came to actually earning a large paycheck. The cakes were beautiful, delicate, but so darn poopy she could hardly stand it.

But she was determined. And a determined Sigh was a dangerous Sigh. Her own wellbeing could wait! This was a mission she had been chosen to complete _personally _and she would not fail! Even if her tongue should fly from her mouth! Even if her eyes blind her with tears! Even if her teeth chip on the candied bows!

SHE WOULD PROCURE MAKA A GOOD WEDDING CAKE!

It was not a task given to her lightly, and it was not something she could fail with dire consequence, she knew. They were cutting it close to the wire with the wedding only a few days away.

Maka had had a cake planned, but the bakery had burned down. Down, down, to the ground, with not even a topper to stand on. And with her wedding in only a week, Maka had damn near broken into very uncharacteristic tears. Between this and her dress and the entire 'marriage' thing the scythe meister had had it with the world that had turned its back on her. To think, she had insisted on a _small_ wedding, something meek and subtle. Maybe she and Soul should just go before a judge, sign the document, and be done in a day? Yes that would be best. There was no need to make a show of it. Simple. That's what she wanted.

But simplicity was unheard of in Death City.

Maka blamed Papa. _Entirely. _

Because as soon Spirit caught the _hint _that his daughter was getting married an entire week had been spent in efforts to murder Soul while simultaneously sobbing like a four-year old. His antics were soon put to rest by an irritated Lord Death, who seemed appalled at the idea of a little wedding for one of his favorite scythe meisters. He didn't listen to Maka's pleads, no, he wanted her to have something HUGE and in the best venue one could afford; Shibusen. And not just Shibusen, his very own Death Room. And he, himself, would perform the wedding, because of course, who else? And then the reception could be held in the ballroom with a cake to feed the hundreds of guests to be invited, the band performing would be the one from the country's top 40 chart, the honeymoon in Barbados (Death enthusiastically opened his wallet), and-

Maka pursed her lips, turned on her heel, and left the room.

Making it back to the apartment, she collapsed face first into Soul and grumbled something about him marrying Lord Death and her father and how they should have just _gone to the damn judge _a week previous.

But that was old news, right? At least they had let Maka choose her own _dress. _But aside from that, and the color scheme, she was startled by the effectiveness at how Lord Death, and, much later, her father, had pushed her out of the whole thing. It had exploded into a tsunami of ribbons and tulle and lace doilies. She honestly couldn't even recognize her plans anymore, and was uncertain as to how two grown men were so damn good at predicting what she would love. But her pride was severely wounded, building over months of missions and watching other people plan what they called her "big day".

And the bakery burning down had just been the straw that had broken a stressed camel's back.

She hadn't wanted the fucking cake anyway. But she had the sudden fear that this would set things back, and she wouldn't be able to get this over with and be done. Not the most legitimate fear, no. And compared to fighting Kishins, perhaps she shouldn't have worried so fiercely. But she still allowed her face to pale and her eyes to prickle and her hands to clench and-

'Maka. Check it out.' She whirled around heatedly -intending to either unfairly bite the head off her fiancé or run crying into his arms- but then she remembered why he had left the apartment in the first place. Sigh gently sat her purse on the floor next to the door, eyeing Maka in mild concern for the blonde girl. Too much. TOO MUCH.

Somewhere between blubbering her misery at her friend and wiping snot and tears on her shirt Maka had coerced Sigh into going cake hunting with them. Sigh couldn't remember if she had volunteered; Maka couldn't remember if she had forced her into it. But they knew they had sat on the couch afterwards, Sigh handing her tissues and telling colorful stories of lost lands and magic.

Gazing up over her new plate of sawdust, Sigh watched the bride-to-be. Maka was silent, face trained on the forkful of the latest dish, green eyes somewhat mournful. Soul had ditched earlier, as it soon became clear that –no offense, of course- he was partial to everything they tried. For such a lack of taste Maka dismissed him with a cook book caving into his skull.

Over the years Maka's pigtails had vanished into a high pony at the crown of her head. Her hair, now significantly longer, was braided and resting down her shoulders. The light freckles that had always dotted her face had grown more pronounced, the green of her eyes somehow seeming darker and calmer.

'I enjoyed you letters,' Maka's comment shocked Sigh out of her reverie. A light smile was on the young woman's lips as she continued. 'I was never sure if you got mine…but I'm glad you never stopped writing. It let me know you were okay.' Sigh smiled. 'Well, I'm ecstatic you still thought to send me an invitation! I mean, it's been _five years._ I just assumed our friendship had, I don't know, cooled.' Maka pursed her lips and Sigh tensed, assuming a book was about to come crashing into her head. 'Don't be stupid. I missed you like crazy! You act like you're so dismissible!' Maka huffed,a soft look in her eyes.

'You're my friend,' she said stubbornly, fork stirring the cake samples on her plate. 'And you don't have the right to dismiss yourself from that role.' Sigh hid her smile behind a sip of her water. Of all the people who had written her (and whose letters had conveniently gotten lost) Maka had written to her the most frequently. And each one contained new experiences and joys and challenges. Each one as friendly as the last and commenting on the letters that Sigh had sent. Yes, Sigh still considered them friends; and it was good to know the feeling was mutual.

Thinking of written letters reminded Sigh of other unfinished business she held in the bounds of Death City. She was not yet certain she would be staying long; aside from Maka's wedding, another deciding factor had presented itself in a woven basket of mail, tossed into her face by Madame, years after the start of Sigh's training.

The young woman honestly shouldn't have been surprised when Bibi had sealed her immediately, trapped her in the witches' realm for an undisclosed amount of time. Sigh had bit and she had fought and cussed and screamed but in the end it was for the best. She was afraid of herself, afraid of the madness that had been creeping up on her recently. The harsh, venomous words she had spat, the curses and hexes on the tip of her tongue. The sudden urge to rip and destroy and watch all the little people scurry like ants before her. That wasn't her. That wasn't a Wiccan.

_Djinn._

Sigh could tame this part of her. She knew she could. She had to, if she ever wanted to go home again, if she ever wanted those she loved to be safe around her. She had to be kept apart, at least for the time being, kept clear of mind and with no fear of wounding others. What would happen if she _had _escaped? Did she honestly believe everything could fade back to the way it was? With this strange, chaotic magic licking up her body, her second pair of arms, the drums of the wild in her veins? Would it not be akin to unleashing a wolf into a den of chickens?

This realization ended her rebellion immediately. She collapsed on the floor of Mabaa's castle in a puddle of her own tears.

After a few months of her entrapment, of Bibi's consistent lessons and impromptu skirmishes with witches, Sigh was allowed out. Bibi began abandoning her in the most remote parts of the world.

The Amazon.

Siberia.

The Himalayas.

The Savannah.

All a part of her training, the elder witch claimed (a little too pleased with herself) all a part of Sigh learning not just power but control. She had to survive in each situation for five months on her own, which was easier in some ways than others. More than once she had been in life-threatening situations and faced starvation or dehydration or burning at the stake. It had become clear to her that Bibi meant it when she warned that Sigh would have to do this **on her own**. No matter the situation, the witch never lifted a single finger to help her granddaughter. Sigh had to come prepared by her own two hands and survive similarly. Sigh had to learn her place. What the local mana meant for her particular brand of magic.

There was a bag full of her journals, her notes from her journeys, what she had learned, somewhere in Mabaa's castle. Someday, she would claim it. Perhaps it could be donated to a library.

During her time with Mabaa, contact with those back home was difficult for Sigh. In most cases Madame confessed to never receiving her daughter's letters when she finally got around to writing them. Sigh could only assume it was much the same for her friends back in Death City, if not worse. Bibi's stance on the citizens of that city was pretty clear.

And so Sigh was not surprised when she never received responses from her friends.

It didn't seem right to blame the worm witch tasked with taking the letters. Not if she was ordered to conveniently "lose" them.

Time was of no consequence; it didn't seem to pass in the witch dimension and clocks were hardly available in the Ighbo tribe of Africa. Most of her days were blurs of survival and sleep, brightened when she had the chance to write or learn a new spell. But this was of no concern for her. The mortality of others seemed a distant fact, fading on the horizon like her memories of the American desert and neon lights. But she held onto herself, held onto all that _Sigh_ was. She could not allow herself to become not herself; this whole experience was to stay the same and make sure those around her would not suffer because of it. As Rehema reasserted herself and memories straggled at the edges of her mind, Sigh sewed the pieces together in a tapestry of the soul.

She learned to scry, to remind herself of what she had left behind. Little images of Forbidden Fantasy and Madam, of Death City. Watched people grow and change, allowed herself to weep when Leroy died of a heart attack, laughed happily when Gardenia brought her son in to rehearsal. Black Star accidentally set the library on fire, Fire and Thunder took karate, Patty went steady with a wind spirit.

And Death the Kid…

When Sigh was finally allowed to leave the gaze of Mabaa the elder witch had granted her the strangest look. Leaning in close, she whispered 'Joma Joma Dabarasa. My precious little lioness, you have done so well.' Perhaps a hug was against protocol. The witches surrounding them stiffened. But Mabaa returned the gesture. Something in Sigh seemed to fall into place. She left content.

It would not be the last she would see of Mabaa, most certainly not. Her training had not just been for her own benefit and what that would mean in the future would come to unfold itself soon. But as it was she could go home to see her family, breathe the arid air of a familiar desert, and banish thoughts of destiny and heritage for a moment.

But then she recognized it had been five years.

Frankly, she was surprised any of her friends in Death City would still be her friends. It was one of the first lessons she learned under Mabaa. A lesson brought by the great wizard Prospero, who lost a kingdom for the study of magic.

_Nothing comes without a price._

Was the cost of her magic her friends?

Sigh had shaken her head; surely not. Right?

Yeah. No way.

Maybe?

Honestly, she had been torn on the issue until Madame had passed her a card sent from a certain scythe wielder in Death City.

Maka remembered her! And that must have meant that Sigh's letters, at least some of them, had been getting through, right? And if letters to Maka had made it to their destination, did that mean letters for Kid as well? Did he respond? Sigh leapt upon Madame, startling a defensive attack from the old woman. Madame was in need of a cane after her run in with Djinn, but that didn't mean she was any less quick on her feet. Sigh's black eye did nothing to dim the eagerness in her gaze as she sought information. Aside from the invitation, had she received any mail?

Madame scoffed in annoyance but her eyes were laughing as she pulled out a large, woven basket. In it were a number of free mailers, junk mail, bills Sigh had paid years ago, and magazines with cancelled subscriptions. Several letters from Maka and Tsubaki, a few from Kilik and the twins, two from Soul, one from Black Star (it was covered in dirt). Just as she was allowing disappointment to set in, she came upon an envelope boasting the Death Family crest. It was the only one.

Sigh's breathing stuttered a bit. The post marked date was some time after she had left to live with Mabaa. What could it contain that he had written no more? Her fingers clenched on the letter, eyes darkening. She hadn't been expecting this for a long time, and she most certainly thought it warranted more than _one damn letter. _There was still romance in her heart from all the books she had read, and though she had heard plenty of times from plenty of people that long distance relationships (or whatever she had with Kid) were difficult and possibly impossible, she had stubbornly held onto hope. Now she chastised herself for not being better prepared because the only person she could blame for the painful shattering in her chest was herself. It wasn't Kid's fault; immortal or not, he was still just a man. And men easily lose patience with that which is not directly in front of them.

The backs of her eyes were just beginning to sting when Madame placed a gentle hand on hers.

'Stop fretting,' her characteristic growling was somewhat soothing. 'And open it.' Sigh looked from the letter to her mother and back again, lips pursed. 'Have _you_?' she asked accusingly, even as her fingers slid smoothly between the lip of the envelope and its body. Madame frowned deeper before breaking into a broad grin. It was like watching a fox smile. Sigh glared harder. 'Never mind; that smile tells me everything. How you manage to be both happy and unsettling I'll never understand…' Sigh carefully pulled the solitary piece of paper from the envelope.

Well, no one could ever say Kid wasn't an economist.

The young woman sneered bitterly. She could already feel in her bones that she would be one of _those exes, _the ones that held a grudge for years afterward. But she thought herself entitled; what sort of ass-hat broke up via letter, anyway?

_My Dearest Sigh,_

She raised an eyebrow. Several lines had been crossed out before that opening, like he hadn't been sure to address her. She rolled her eyes, although the action shook a nervous tear free. His hand-writing was as lovely as ever.

_It's been six months, four days, eight hours, twenty-seven minutes, and, as of this moment, forty-three seconds since Madame told me you were trapped with Mabaa. I was angry, am still angry, but you will find a way back if you do not want to be there. I trust that you believe it is for the best. I trust you. But that will not and cannot make me trust _**_them. _**_If I come to find you harmed in any way…perhaps it is wise for me to believe you are well. _

_To be honest, writing a letter like this feels nostalgic; with all the technology and magic of today, I haven't had to write a real letter in decades. But no uninvited magic can make it into the realm of the witch, and I doubt this letter will be received any kinder._

That was true. Sigh was already somewhat of an outcast amongst the other witches because of her lineage; she could only imagine what would happen when they discovered her connection to Kid went deeper than living in his city.

_…I don't know what to say. But perhaps the most direct path is the best?_

Here it comes…

_I dream about you. Your laugh, your warmth, your smell…_

…what?

_That's strange isn't it? Please dismiss it then. However, I cannot bring myself to erase it._

And he hadn't crossed it out. Sigh couldn't tell if he hadn't due to cosmetic issues or... reasons. But she couldn't fault him. How could she? She despised hypocrisy. Her hands tightened on the letter, embarrassment written on her face as she recalled one particular autumn, when the breeze had blown _just right. _The _perfect_ mixture of mystery and chill and crisp, sweet, air had her standing in the open for _hours, __just breathing him in__._

_She grit her teeth and shook her head, earning a raised eyebrow from Madame._

_Time passes differently for us immortals. Before my weapons, I would wake to find a week or month had passed, or I would come home unaware that I had been away for over a year. Our human friends have slowed me down. Made me very aware of all that comes to pass. I believe this to be a good thing, in the end. There is such beauty in the world; now I understand how easily I could have dismissed it in my haste. But at the same time I am aware of the heavy sense of longing, and how it force time to drag._

_ I feel this space between us. The days are like molasses. Words can hardly describe… it's an ironic pity that when I finally sit to write you, I go dumb and mute. This whole letter is clumsy, but it is the best of the ones I have written for you. The floor is littered with its discarded predecessors. You_

Several words were crossed out, others smudged beyond recognition.

_I miss you. I suppose there's nothing more to say then that. Maybe that is why I am at a loss; everything else to be said I must whisper into your hair as we embrace._

Sigh could see where he had tried to cross out the last line and, picturing the embarrassment on his face, she barked a short laugh. This _dork. _This giant-ass _dork._ The corniness of it all was ludicrous! She would have to be an ignorant, romantic, nonsensical, fool to fall into this vat of honey and sugar!

But she couldn't stop the manic grin on her mouth.

_Face to face is better for us, I suppose. No amount of paper or ink could properly express what I feel. And if it's not done properly, then it should not be done at all._

Sigh rolled her eyes.

_Don't roll your eyes, Sigh._

Now the bastard could read her mind. Great. Son of a-

_I'll accept nothing but the best for you. _

Damnitdamnitdamnitdamnit...is was so goddamn uunfair how quickly she was sinking.

_Please continue to write me. I enjoy reading of your training. I do not believe the lapses in time are correct, and I suspect a few of your letters are not making it to me. There's no way of knowing that any of my responses find you. I assume Madame does all that she can…but I doubt that the witches wish for our communication. That makes it all the more precious to me when one of your letters makes it. It lifts me immeasurably. _

The closure note was tricky. It had been crossed out several times, whited over, and written again. He appeared to be writing the same thing, over and over and then, immediately regretting it, moving to correct his perceived error. But the force with which he had been writing betrayed him and though it read

_Yours,_

_Death the Kid_

Sigh's fingers would feel the groves on the back of the paper spelling out a different message.

_I-L-o-v-e-y-o-u_

Her mouth went dry, the words running through her head on repeat.

_I love you._

_I LOVE you._

_LOVE._

She quickly checked the post marked date. The letter was over four years old. "Did…he write anything else?" Madame shook her head slowly, moving to light a cigarette. "No. But you know that, don't you?" They stood in silence for a bit before Sigh spoke. "Can I…have some paper and a pen, please?"

Eight messages to be written, three words each.

_I'm coming home. _

The ninth was somewhat more difficult to write. In between begging him to still be there and scolding him for not writing her more, Sigh settled on simply

_You amazing, stupid, beautiful, man._

_But then she didn't send it._

And now she was here, sitting in a Death City bakery, set up in a Death City hotel, waiting for her best friend's wedding.

His last letter had been written nearly four years ago. It would be unfair to assume he waited for her that long. But other letters had been mentioned…no, if one had made it to Madame, they all should have…right?

'Oh. My. God,' Maka's eyes were wide when Sigh looked at her. 'Eat this.'

'Maka, what-'

'EAT THIS, FOOL.' Whether it was the blonde's raise in tone or her sudden channeling of an ancient sword Sigh was quickly shoving a hunk of cake into her mouth. She chewed pensively, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

'It's…_good. _No…it's _awesome._' Maka nodded enthusiastically. 'Right? _Right?_'

Sigh had to stop being so selfish. This was going to be a landmark in Maka's life; as her friend, the least she could do was help make the meister happy. Her own dramas could wait.

And as she sat in the very back of the ceremony, suppressing her soul as best she could and watching Kid settle into his position as groomsman, she told herself she would woman-up and talk to the young reaper. She was uncertain as to whether he had sensed her presence but, unwilling to cause a scene on today of all days, she had carefully changed her hair to a mild dark brown, her skin lightening to subtle olive, her arms tucked securely into her body. She wondered if he could see her hand in the flowers, how she had added a bit of aura to the room to make them bloom more beautifully. If he could tell she had sprinkled orange blossom water on the runner to keep the mood high, or the careful attention to detail set in the redness of cherry wood pews.

Or perhaps, like the minds of everyone else present, he was wondering where the guests of honor were.

That is, one cannot have a wedding without two people waiting to be wed.

Or someone to wed them. Where the Hell was Lord Death?

'MAAAKKAAAAA! WHYYYYYYY? HAVE YOU ABANDONNED PAPA?' Spirit was sobbing on the floor. His pride was of no consequence as he simply melted into a puddle of unsightly man-goo. Although he was hardly willing to let anyone take this daughter away, he had been looking forward to the wedding as a way to prove to Maka that he was the world's best Papa. But now he would never have the chance, would he? She had abandoned him! Oh woe! WOE!

Spirit spent several annoying seconds on the floor before Sigh's attention was caught by a woman with dark blonde hair and almond shaped eyes, stomping up to him. Something about her demeanor and the way she landed a swift kick to his face, knocking him out, told Sigh this was Maka's mother. She would have to shake the woman's hand later, she decided.

Standing subtly, Sigh edged herself into the hall. She bee-lined for what had been designated as Maka's dressing room, marked by a ringlet of yellow roses on the handle of the door. Perhaps the young woman had cold feet? It seemed incomprehensible in Sigh's mind. Somehow, Maka and Soul seemed like the sort of people who had always been meant to fall into each other. But nerves knew no logic. And this was the woman who had proclaimed for a generous part of her life that men were no good and she never wanted to marry.

'Maka?...'

The room was empty, save for the abandoned bouquet and veil on the vanity. Suddenly nervous, Sigh edged closer, noticing a folded over piece of paper.

_Whoever comes to find me, please let everyone know that Lord Death has married Soul and I already. We are now on our way to Barbados. Sorry. We're just not wedding people. Papa should have listened. Thank everyone for their time though, okay?_

Sigh read the note twice before its meaning hit her. Maka, that minx! Who knew she had it in her to elope?

Sigh had always known Maka had a pair of brass on her, but this spurred a surge of absolute respect in Sigh. She wasn't even made that the preparations had been for naught; in the end she wasn't footing the bill, and now her day was free to eat ice cream and catch up on all the literature she had missed the past few years. There was nothing left to do but go tell everyone they were dismissed. Maybe she should tell them to take some reception food home? It would be a shame to let it go to waste. There was an awful lot of chicken and fish grilling on behalf of this wedding; and Sigh intended to leave with more than a few jumbo shrimp cocktails.

Sigh carefully placed the letter back on the desk, fingers lovingly tracing petals of the bouquet. She had decided that one of Maka's wedding gifts would be the prolonged lives of the delicate red roses, blooms that would survive as long as the love of Maka and Soul. The tricky part had been mingling the dimming aura of the roses with that of their new caretakers. Especially now that Maka and Soul were miles away. But Sigh still had a bit of their auras jumbled up in her mana, grains like sand floating near the bottom. She braided them together and tethered them like roots leading into the flowers.

And it hadn't even needed a spell. The Sigh of five years previous would be impressed.

Basking in the glow of her own success, Sigh nearly jumped out of her skin at the gentle knock on the door she'd left cracked.

'Hello? Are you decent? I'm coming in.' She stiffened, looking around for a exit that wasn't there as the door opened to reveal Death the Kid.

His tuxedo was without a tie -purposefully following a 'casual' theme that was Soul's touch in the wedding- and he wore dark lace-ups instead of dress shoes. The handkerchief in his pocket was the same color red as the roses, and was the only color aside from his eyes and lips. His hair had been stylishly tousled for the occasion, but it was possible to see the growth of the stripes in his hair. He was somehow larger than she remembered, and she wondered how she hadn't felt him coming up the hall.

'Ah, I suppose I was not the only one with this idea then?' He didn't seem to recognize her, and she ran her fingers across her throat in a movement that she made casual.

'No,' she said in a voice that wasn't her own. 'I though perhaps the bride had cold feet.' Kid hummed in dry amusement. 'My fears were far less…innocent, on the part of the bride and groom.' With a wry smile, Sigh lifted the note. 'Your fears are well-founded. They eloped, courtesy of Lord Death.' Kid's eyes stayed trained on her face. 'I see. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. We all should have known something like this would happen.'

'Right.' He took another step forward, scouring her face, and Sigh once again had to resist the urge to move. As his aura swept over her skin she felt goose bumps appear, tingles running up her spine and making her knees weak. But she would not give in, damn it. This wasn't how she wanted to do things; if he discovered now that she had been in town for a week, too cowardly to approach him, she would be humiliated.

'I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met formally. My name is Death the Kid.'

'I'm just an old friend of Maka's.'

'And that's your name?'

'It's fine for the moment.'

'In the future I may need to call your name.'

'In the future you'll have it.'

'The future is now.'

'So late already? I should go.'

At this point he was so close she could see the finer golds in his eyes, his presence superimposing onto hers and making her want to lean into him. She sidestepped and tried to look nonchalant as she rushed for the door. As feared, Kid was faster, the door shutting and his body situated in front of it.

'…that was rude.'

'Rudeness begets rudeness.'

'And I assume you sting bees back when they sting you?'

'You're a bee? More a wasp; you think to leave with your sting.'

'If I'm a wasp, move before I sting _you_.'

'I don't believe that you could harm me.'

'I'd sting you someplace tender.'

'My heart?'

'Your tongue.'

'My tongue? Miss, do you know that a wasp wears her sting in her tail?'

'Are you stupid or do you think I am?'

'You imply to leave here with my tongue in your tail? I'm a gentleman, you know!' Sigh swallowed a smile despite herself. Kid's face was blank, but his eyes danced with amusement.

'Do you think I'm a joke?'

'No more than moonlight.'

'You mock me.'

'A soldier laughs in the field.'

'I'm not an enemy you want.'

'But one I could best.'

'In this field? No.'

'But yes.'

'My words are bullets; sentences, bombs-'

'Fluid, sharp, hitting the mark-'

'My eyes spit fire-'

'In close kin to stars-'

'My power, unstoppable-'

'My will, immovable-'

'KID!'

'SIGH!'

Sigh froze, watching the laughter in his eyes harden into something else entirely. She backed away, watching him follow. 'What…what did you call me?' She hadn't noticed he had clasped his hands behind his back until they were freed, finding her hips and pulling her close. As her hands shot forward to steady her she noticed they were back to café au lait, the loose hair in her face violent purple. A familiar soreness made itself known as her secondary arms appeared. She must have lost concentration on her spell. 'You heard me, _Psyche_.' He leaned in close, his breath on her face and his eyes hooded. 'Is this a game, to you?' His hand snaked up her body, wrapping in her hair and drawing her head back. 'Hiding from me? Watching me feel for you?'

Once she was sure she wouldn't stutter, Sigh responded, attempting to save her pride. 'Depends. What is it to you?' He chuckled into her throat. 'Sometimes, you are just so _terrible, _Psyche. I don't think you know how terrible you are.' Sigh swallowed. 'I didn't want…I didn't want…'

He kissed her with such force she would've fallen backwards if not for his hands on her, keeping her close. She clenched her fingers in his tuxedo jacket and wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing him closer and breathing him in. There was a growl in his throat as her lips parted, arms lifting her until she had to wrap her legs around his waist. Was it a sin to have missed this? If it wasn't, why did it feel so damn good?

As their wavelengths meshed, the force blew the bulb above their heads, friction spiking their hair and a thrum of mana pulsing through their bodies. Tendrils of shadow interlaced with incandescent ivy, Sigh's shoe fell to the ground as he hefted her to sit on the vanity, nearly knocking over the bouquet and crushing the note. Their lips partly briefly, giving her time to lift herself high enough to press a kiss to his forehead. She gently kissed every part of his face, softly murmuring in Swahili as she went. To her pleasure, he responded in kind, hands running up and down her sides as the wanton abandon in his voice matched hers.

When their lips next met the kiss was less frantic but twice as _hungry,_ Sigh moaning in helpless desire as his aura licked up her spine and his soul ground against hers. A hand slid up her body, gently cupping one of her breasts as her fingers rested at the base of his spine. She pulled away to look him in the eyes, panting as she watched him run his tongue over his lips. 'Kid, I-'

The door slammed open and they froze.

'Sigh, Love,' Kid muttered into her face. 'Please tell me my father is not standing behind me, glaring holes into my body. I would be grateful if you could confirm that this is not the case.' Sigh stared at Lord Death's mask through saucer eyes, trying to shrink behind Kid's body. He was of average height, but she couldn't quite see his eyes through his mask. 'Well, I'm not sure if he's glaring, but-'

'_Absolutely. Not.' _Sigh flinched, having never been privy to Lord Death's 'real' voice before. From the folds of his billowing cloak he pulled what looked like a spray bottle, not hesitating to shoot his son in the side of the face.

Oh. It _was _a spray bottle.

'Bad, Kiddo! That's a very bad Kiddo!' Kid yanked his hands from Sigh to attempt to shield himself from his father's wrath. Sigh straightened her clothes, watching as Kid shrank back, cowed. 'How _dare _you? Did I not raise you correctly? Accosting a young lady in such a manner! Honestly! _BAD KIDDO!_' A finger shot out of the cloak, pointing at Sigh and causing her to jump.

'If you are sincere in your interest in Miss Psyche you will court her respectfully and _appropriately_! You will not _attack _her like some sort of starved animal! You are a gentleman! Act like one!' The older reaper huffed before turning his attention fully to Sigh. 'I do apologize, Miss Sigh. It would appear as though my son has forgotten himself.' Sigh shook her head, but before she could speak Kid's shock wore off. 'Father-' Lord Death shot him in the eyes without even looking at him, ignoring his cries of pain.

'…Lord Death, if I may ask, what's in that bottle?'

'You're such a polite young lady, Miss Sigh! Of course I'll answer. It's just water and lemon juice. Nothing special.' Oh. Of course. Sigh smiled trying desperately not to laugh at Kid's expense. She accepted Lord Death's hand as he offered it, pushing herself off the edge of the vanity and dusting off her dress in what she hoped was a classy manner. 'Now, we have a wedding party to disband and a reception to clean up. I apologize for the inconvenience; perhaps I should have known of Maka's discomfort earlier. But it is of no consequence now.' Sigh nodded in understanding, encouraging Lord Death to continue. 'I would also be interested in how long you intend to stay in my city. And why. As nice as it is to see you again, someone like you cannot be allowed free reign here, I am sorry to say.'

Sigh pursed her lips, suddenly afraid. 'I understand. But I've been working very hard. It's not-'

'I know.' Hearing the smile in Lord Death's voice calmed Sigh a bit. 'But your life and role is forever changed, as the named heir of Mabaa. Things can and get grow complicated as your relationship with Kiddo is made public.' Sigh's eyes narrowed. 'I recognize that. But how did you know that Bibi has named me her heir?' Lord Death gathered his shadows about him, once again standing tall and imposing. 'I am Death. I have my ways. We will talk after we clear my death room. And get some cake and shrimp. Let us be off. There is much to discuss, and this bottle only hold so much.'"


End file.
